Mi Amor Loco  Dalton Inspired NaNoWriMo
by SnivaliceLlover
Summary: A Jogan/Klaine/Rane/Chustin-inspired NaNoWriMo. Set after Hell Night, Julian awakes in the hospital with memories that don't make sense. Flames, screaming and bright green flash of a loved ones eyes.   Established Jogan follows on.
1. Chapter 1

**Mi Amor Loco**

**So this is the beginning of my Jogan NaNoWriMo. I have done 50,000+ of Jogan but I'm just going to be putting little sections up regularly. NaNo was one of the hardest possible writing tasks I've ever done and I know I wouldn't have been able to do it without the support of my friends.**

**So this one is for Milly, Bryony and Grace. I dedicate this story to you. You are my support group and I love you so much. You're the best friends a girl can have and I know that one day, you're going to be recognised formally and properly for this.**

**Bryony - You were the end Beta reader and you helped me so much with punctuation and little foibles like that which people pick up on. Thank you for being there.**

**Milly - 'Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power to that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared' - One day, I'm going to see your name in Waterstones and there will be queues out the door with children clamouring for your next book. Just wait.**

**Grace - You saved my life, numerous times. So I am indebted forever. What a wonderful place to be.**

**This is a pretty big thank you but I truly mean every word.**

**I hope you enjoy it.**

**I certainly had fun writing it.**

**-Alice 3**

* * *

><p><em>Beep... Beep... Beep.<em>

Okay. This was starting to piss Julian off. What was that noise? He heard it get louder, so loud it seemed to be in tempo with his heartbeat, but then fade, almost as quiet as rustling leaves on a winter's morning.

_Beep... Beep... Beep... B-Beep... B-Beep._

A change? An infinitesimal change in that persistent noise seemed so huge to Julian. However, he couldn't move and couldn't see, so this small adjustment was enough to focus all of Julian's attention.

_Beep. Beep... Beep... Beep._

He recognized it. That tone, that irregular pattern. He had heard it before, eons ago when life didn't seem so dark and empty. It was coming from the right of him, or was it the left? All sense of direction had just disappeared from him.

_Beep... Beep... Beep Beep... Beep... B... Beep._

Why was it so erratic? Why couldn't it follow a simple pattern? Julian tried to turn his head, wanting to find the source of the noise, to turn it off so he could get some peace. He was tired, so exhausted; yet he was horizontal. He made out the soft texture of a cover over his body, his hand brushing the wrapper gingerly. Cotton? Yes, cotton. A name to the feeling.

_Beep...Beeeppppp... Be-ep._

Where was he? Julian shifted through his memories, gleams of light and noise standing out. He knew he was safe... and before he hadn't been. It seemed like a barrier was over parts of his past, blocking him out from the recollections. Why? Had he been in danger? Was he in pain? He flexed his muscles quickly, trying to pinpoint any areas of tenderness or hurt.

"Responding... Positive…"

A voice! Julian clamped down on the rough tone of the voice, clamouring for the noise again. It had been a man. A man with a low voice, Julian concluded. Dips and valleys had rolled over each syllable and a lilting accent raised the end of each word. Julian knew he wasn't hearing the entire conversation; his hearing had dipped and was making the sentence muddled and disjointed.

Irish? Scottish? Julian couldn't concentrate on that now. What did those words mean? "_Responding... Positive…"_ Julian mulled the ideas over. Something was going well, better than expected. Whatever was going on had pleased the man.

_Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep._

The noise seemed stronger, more... vital. Maybe the improvement in that irritating sound had pleased the man. But why would he care about a beeping and how weak or strong it had become?

Questions assaulted Julian's head, each of them elbowing their way to the front of his mind, begging to be answered.

But Julian couldn't think. Tiredness had washed over him again; his closed eyes seemed heavier than usual. He had felt this before, when dark had replaced all the light in his world. The absence of this had alarmed Julian previously; he remembered clawing at the gloom, trying to break through, back into what he considered reality. That sense of panic flooded his body again; his breath seemed to speed up.

In perfect synchronicity, the beeping increased in pitch, screeching now.

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

"Reaction! ...Down! ...Stop!"

The voice had come back, almost growling as it uttered those words. Julian strained to hear the words, the pounding in his chest and the shrieking of beeping almost deafening him. He felt a pressure on his arm, somebody grasping his wrist. He wasn't moving, or was he? He didn't know and all he could feel was the darkness crushing around him.

The pressure disappeared slightly, a small prick of pain stabbing at his arm. Wildly he tried to fling his arm out, but with no movement following up his mind's order. The darkness had become heavier, swarming up his torso slowly. A cool tingling sensation replaced the pain in his arm.

Much to his horror he realized the tingling sensation was moving, creeping its way up his arm. A flashback went hand-in-hand with the feeling. He was transported back to his childhood. He was a gangly eight-year old, watching in fascination as he watched a snail crawl up his bicep. The same feeling of the same slow movement was identical to what had followed the pain in his arm.

A whimper escaped his mouth, coming out as a hiss between his clenched teeth.

"Visible... Response... Contact…" Another voice entered his hearing. It was of woman, her voice had a lulling ring to it.

"Brilliant... Medically... Take?" the man questioned at the end, his accent lilting the question in an exaggerated movement.

"No... Ready... Brain... Too soon to tell…" He was improving; he knew it now he could catch longer sections. What did they mean? Brain? And something not being ready?

Julian was speculating, his mind going into overdrive as he tried to focus solely on the voices. He noticed, but with less interest than he had before, that the beeping had died down to its usual pitch, becoming a background noise he was all-too-familiar with.

"A blip?" His first full sentence, albeit a small one. Julian felt like celebrating.

"Perhaps. He seems to have returned back to his previous state. Maybe he was over stimulated?" the man didn't have the same confidence in his voice as he had before. Irish, Julian concluded. This man was Irish. He felt proud of himself, being able to catch these full sentences. He loved hearing the different voices, musing on the peaks and descents that the words made.

"Possibly, but what could have driven him to that? We haven't changed anything in his room have we?" the woman's voice probed, her lulling tone sounding too feminine to be accusing.

"Those boys came in earlier but there was no noted change back then. Maybe he's finally ready?" the man seemed to be fearful of the woman's reactions.

"I'm not sure, the cardiac monitor seems to be changing rapidly, this could be good or bad," the woman replied.

Cardiac monitor, what is that? Julian knew the name. He felt it slip away from him, disappearing into the depths of his mind.

"He's been comatose for the last two weeks, Doctor" the man argued.

Who's been comatose? Had HE been comatose? The woman was a doctor, so that means... Julian tried to shake his head. No, he couldn't be in hospital. There was no reason why he should be in hospital.

"_You will never see him again—__you hear me__? He's mine now!" _A memory? Julian felt uneasy as the words that had been screamed slip back into his head. Why did that voice, that high desperate voice, bring back a feeling of horror to him?

"_Tell him or I'll kill him, Julian—I will!_" Who was that? Why did he sound in so much pain? Did Julian cause it? He heard his name being screamed, but despite the angry tone, the voice had wrapped around his name like a caress.

_"That's impossible, this is…this can't be…"..._ That voice. That manly voice, racked with shock and worry. The voice, paired with a deep chuckle and angry snarl. Green flashed in his mind, the most beautifully vivid green Julian ever encountered. That voice accompanied the colour.

Why did he recognize it so well?

_"You sound like a girl sharing gossip."_

_"I __am__ a freak, if you haven't noticed."_

_"Ignore Julian; he's got a stick shoved up his back end."_

All from the same voice, all ending with teasing roll, all belonging to the same person, a person that had shouted at Julian, laughed with Julian, teased Julian and spoken softly to Julian. The same person whose singing voice had brought Julian to a standstill outside the rehearsal hall in... Where did Julian go again?  
>Yes, Dalton.<p>

The person who looked amazing when angry, with flushed cheeks and a dangerous glint in his emerald eyes.

A person who he had seen ravaged by love, a blush along on his neck as he saw the boys who'd captured his eye stroll down the hallway.

A person who he'd seen sob uncontrollably, tears dripping down his pale cheeks and with his hands, oh, those strong and determined hands that had tamed the piano yet been so furious as to give Julian a black eye, had swept through his thick blonde hair that had always reminded Julian of a summer morning sunrise.

This one person, his person. His mad, coffee-addict, desperate, ignorant friend, who had been the object of Julian's affection for years on end, the focus of his dreams for months. His...

What was his name? It was a usual name, nothing special... but it was special. He used his middle name, his first name reminded him of his father, a fact he hated.

John... Yes that was his first name. John... John... He was a third in generation, a fact that always seemed so regal to Julian, but at the same time had been the source of Julian's teasing for years.

Wright. His last name, one that he hoped to adopt to his own name in his wildest fantasies.

Logan.

_Logan._

That's it.

Logan.

How could he forget those eyes, that smile, that body. He felt blasphemous in a way, for forgetting the exact detail of Logan's beauty. He was almost glad he was in a coma, that way he couldn't reveal his true state to the world.

"His vitals look good, Doctor." A soft swish indicated a chart being flipped through. "And according to the scans he has no neurological trauma." Julian heard the man cross the room and approach his bed. Cold air swam around him as the blanket was gingerly removed from his body. A gentle touch on his leg made him acutely aware how bare he was in front of the professionals, and he vehemently wished that he could cover up.

"Who took off his cast?" the woman enquired, approaching the bed as well.

"Nurse Clements, Doctor," the man replied. Julian wasn't aware he'd had a cast or that it had been removed. That last night at Dalton still slipped away from him when he tried to remember, but the feeling of dread and worry still hung around.

Why would he need a cast? Being in a hospital gave Julian enough realization that he must have been hurt during those foggy times at Dalton, but a broken leg? Was it really that bad?

_"And you! This is all because you both wouldn't just let things go the way I planned for us!"_

Once again that angry voice punctured its way through his thoughts, disbelief and anguish pouring through the psychotic scream. Who could have been so angry with Julian? Yet… Julian felt a different emotion swim behind the livid disposition. The screaming seemed furious of course, but it had a tone of longing behind it. His name, yelled in wrath, was coated in desire and possession. This person, whoever he was seemed to be craving Julian in a way that surpassed revulsion. It almost seemed like... Dare he say it? Love.

No. It couldn't have been. Everybody thought Julian was an emotionally unavailable diva. Nobody loved him, not even his own parents.

Yes…

Dolce and Travis. A newspaper had quoted them 'The modern day Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor'. This was the entirely wrong sentiment. Maybe with the volatility, Julian was accustomed to be welcomed in the morning with his mother with an aging bruise around her eye and his father reeking of alcohol, but since the divorce he just seemed to be a burden on them.

Maybe his mother loved him, maybe somewhere deep in her Hollywood mind she had affection and aspirations for her son that grew from a deep-rooted idea of maternal love, but his mother (Julian could see her in his mind's eye with her catlike sepia eyes, peroxide hair and immobile facial features) really seemed to be more interested in whether her surgery would be postponed before her next premiere.

And Travis... Julian knew his father meant well, securing him the movie deals that he needed to become an established actor by the time he was twenty and showering him in enough electronics to furnish a small warehouse, but it was the want for physical closeness and bonding that Travis seemed to lack.

_Beep… Beep… Beep…_

_Being in a coma makes you consider a lot_, Julian thought idly. He didn't know how long he would be in this darkness, or even if anybody missed him so his mind being his only friend suited him perfectly.

The doctors had gone, they had spoken for another few minutes before leaving, the door making a resounding bang as it shut, leaving Julian alone once more.

He preferred this way; the room had become some sort of sanctuary to him now. There was no outside noise; his regular breathing had given him an anchor to the world, keeping him attached to reality, a constant reminder that he was still alive.

He wondered how close he was to death. Being in a hospital wasn't a routine and simple occurrence for Julian, and the broken leg seemed to account for a pretty serious accident that had happened.

But if he was going to die, why were they prolonging his life? Julian did internal revenue quickly, flexing his muscles as much as he could; but there was nothing, no pain, no feeling. It was as if Julian just awoken from a long slumber and his limbs felt numb from the hours of sleep. He could feel his limbs though; they felt intact, so he couldn't have been that badly hurt.

_"You saved me and now I'm going to protect you! No matter what! No matter who it is!" _There it was again, that shrill scream. Julian tried to flinch away from the voice and the feelings that they brought on.

Why did he fear it so much? Why couldn't he put a name to the unknown face?

Was it a head injury? Julian froze, his mind trying to sort a path around that idea that had firmly planted itself in Julian's mind.

A head injury? Could that be the reason for the memory loss? The difficulties he had in recognizing faces. Julian valued his mind too much, it kept him in Dalton, it made memorising scripts easier and it was a credit to everything Julian possessed.

But... What if it was gone? Simply robbed away from him, and never coming back. It was all like a bad dream, a nightmare that Julian would wake up and be in his bed in Stuart.

Yes. Stuart. That house he belonged too. He was a credit to Stuart, a bona fide movie star with the good looks to rival any actor. Now Julian was just being big-headed.

He had to stop getting side-tracked; Julian wasn't helping anyone if he panicked.

But could this be a dream inside death? Death taking apart the traditional gods and angels, Julian never believed in those fairy stories, but death as in an endless dream that he could warp around what he wanted.

But if this was a dream, he considered the prospect very seriously now, why couldn't he move? Surely if he was dead he would have been perfect.

Julian was gripped by a horrible idea. Was this a nightmare? Instead of it being a dream, was he locked in an everlasting nightmare that stretched on for eternity? This wouldn't be fair. Julian never had done anything bad, he hadn't hurt anybody, and he hadn't committed a crime so why was he being punished?

_"What makes me so different from him?" _ That anguish brought Julian down sharply. That shout of odium, laced with so much torment and confusion was Julian's only crime. But what had he done to make somebody so angry with him? His mind was still a blank.

The door creaked open, and hushed voices in the hallway made all his attention go to the people just outside.

"Please go in. The doctor's note shows some indication that Julian is possibly waking himself up, so perhaps… A familiar voice…" a new woman's voice, whispering now was just outside his door.

The squeaking of heeled shoes clicked as the person walked in. They stayed near the end of the bed; Julian felt their eyes burning into him.

"Hey, Julian" he recognized that boy's voice. It was high and soft, and he knew it paired with brightly coloured cashmere and elfin features.

Kurt Hummel looked down at the boy nervously. Although Julian was hooked up to practically all the machinery in the room, and was lying perfectly still on his back, he still had an air of haughtiness.

Despite wearing a hospital gown.

Kurt moved around the side of Julian's bed, glancing down at the actor warily. His face was smooth, impassive and without a hint of emotion. His eyes were closed, the purple bruise blooming across his pale temple and spreading across his eye. The nurse had assured that Julian wasn't going to have any head trauma, apart from a nasty headache for a few days, but seeing him here, so vulnerable and defenceless made Kurt's eyes fill with tears.

He should have been more careful. Parents Evening (Hell Night as the whole campus had ironically coined it) could have been solved with a lot more ease and less pain. He felt like it was his entire fault. He never should have transferred to Dalton; all this didn't have to happen.

If he hadn't had transferred, Blaine wouldn't be lying at home recuperating from a stab wound, Reed wouldn't have had to go through physiotherapy on his leg from numerous breaks, Dwight wouldn't have had to have skin grafts on his jaw and cheekbones for burns and maybe the Tweedles would have started to smile a bit more.

And Julian.

Julian wouldn't have had his heart broken.

Hummel had paused Julian noted, as he listened to the heels stop near to his bed. The chair next to him squeaked slightly as Kurt sat down in it, his breathing matching Julian's.

"How are you?" Kurt asked quietly. Julian felt irritation bubble up inside him. What was he supposed to do? Answer? Hummel annoyed him quite a lot (an understatement of the century.)

"Can you hear me Julian?" Yes, Julian could hear him. All Julian wanted to do was to sleep.

Kurt sighed, looking down at the motionless form of Julian. He didn't know how much Julian could hear, but he knew the diva would snap at him for asking such inane questions. But what do you ask a boy in a coma? There was no etiquette, no handbook on how to handle such scenarios. He leant forward and grasped Julian's warm hand.

_Why was he touching his hand?_ Julian thought crossly as he felt his hand being taken off the bed sheet and cupped by the elfin singer.

"I'm sorry, Julian. I am, I'm sorry for everything that I did too you. I was never in love with Logan," Kurt inhaled sharply at that name, "and I know you were. I'm sorry for ever transferring to Dalton. I ruined your chances at happiness and I wish I hadn't." Tears were forming in Kurt's eyes. They splashed down on Julian's hand and surrounding bed sheet.

"You're going to wake up and you'll remind me how pathetic I'm being. And I deserve that. But… I don't know what else to do."

Julian almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but he was getting his hand wet. He knew Kurt was being sincere, and even the mention of Logan's name set Julian's head spinning. But it wasn't good enough; Kurt Hummel wasn't in a coma. He was.

Kurt swallowed, still tightly grasping the actor's hand. The silence was unnerving; it was so unlike Julian to keep his mouth shut when Kurt was burbling on. His phone flashed a text from Shane but he ignored it. Julian would consider it rude if Kurt wasn't paying complete attention to him, especially when he was lying in a coma.

Julian was exasperated. Although Hummel annoyed him to the brink of insanity, he felt sorry for him, which was a feeling practically unknown to the actor. Kurt seemed genuinely upset and Julian had the strange urge to comfort him, before realizing his immobile form was unable to show any sign of reassurance.

Maybe when Julian came out of this stationary blip he could actually talk to Kurt about this time? Or... maybe they could just go back to being acquaintances. Either way, he knew Hummel and him weren't going to become close allies despite this visitation making what seemed to be a profound effect on him.

"We've all missed you Julian. Derek especially. He comes and sees you, Jules, I don't know if you've noticed. The Tweedles don't have anybody to tease according to them, I'm not really sure if that's a compliment though. I know Stuart House has lacked something since you've been here Julian, and it's getting the school down. Don't worry about work though; Justin's been managing it for you... Jules?" a tug on his hand. "C'mon Jules, just give me a sign of life. Something to know that you're still there" Kurt whimpered, tugging on Julian's limp hand.

If Julian had control of his body, he would be crying right now. He so wanted to be able to move, to just lift his finger, to give the broken boy some small hope. Julian was straining, putting his whole mind in trying to move even the tiniest bit. But this just exhausted him.

Julian felt his weary mind scream in protest as he desperately tried to push his body into some sort of response. To Julian it felt like he was pushing in earnest against an iron and brick wall, trying to break through to the glorious prize behind the barrier.

The glorious prize, not being gold bullion or any precious jewels, but the right to his body back. It was unfair that the hospital had complete control over him, yet Julian could only struggle against them.

It was degrading, having one's body so dead beneath an active mind. It was the sort of thing, Julian realised, that would drive people to suicide. Once they could move, of course.

_Great time to be cracking jokes idiot_, Julian scolded himself. He tried to focus on the sound of Kurt. He was crying, Julian could tell that from the pathetic sniffles and whines that were coming from his direction. Those little noises were depressing, but to feel Kurt clutching the rest of his arm was even more painful.

Kurt raised his head, staring blindly through the tears to Julian's still impassive face. There was no doubt the diva was good-looking even through the cut on his lip and the slight swelling across his jaw, but right now he just seemed peaceful. Like he was accepting death.

This freaked Kurt out more than seeing his boyfriend's shoulder pour blood onto the wooden floor of the Art Hall.

He leant forward, brushing his lips against Julian's ear as he whispered in his ear.

Kurt freaking Hummel was kissing his ear. He was almost 100% sure of that. Julian wanted to flinch away, punching the elfin boy squarely in his delicate face. _Surely Blaine isn't withholding himself? Man, why does he have to slime all over ME though_, Julian thought angrily.

"Logan misses you, Julian. He just won't admit it."

_Beep… Beep... Beep… B...Beep._

Kurt pulled away, releasing the actor's hand and rooted through his coat pocket, looking for the carefully wrapped bunch of grapes that he had brought.

Julian dimly felt Hummel let go of his hand, vaguely heard him move away. But this was a tiny drop compared to the tidal wave that was crashing over him at the words that Kurt had just uttered in his ear.

_Logan misses you, Julian._

_Logan... misses... you..._

_I'm missed._

Julian felt his heart soar, crushing down the darkness that had previously terrified him. There were no words to express how perfect Julian felt. He wanted to scream for joy, jump around the room in happiness and declare his love from the rooftops. His life wasn't worthless anymore. Julian had a meaning for life. And that was Logan.

He heard it before he saw it. In his mind's eye, the brick wall which he had been fruitlessly been throwing himself at to break through had a single fault line running through it. Julian pushed his mind against the metaphorical wall once more. It shook, the top layer smashing around him. He pushed again. Another crack, more destruction raining about him.

He could see the light. The warm light of day peeking through his eyelashes, coming from the window opposite Julian's bed.

He could smell the sharp fragrance of Kurt's aftershave, the fruity and cool scent of the grapes.

He pushed the wall again, his mind rejoicing as it tumbled around him.

Could he move? With the greatest single effort and last ounce of strength he had, Julian managed to raise his right index finger slightly off the bed.

Kurt saw this; he started up, staring at the feebly moving finger.

It was the sign he had been praying for. Julian was coming back.

With speed that surprised even him Kurt was at the door, wrenching it open. He was racing down the hallway, his heeled shoes making a frantic noise against the polished floor. He paused breathless at the floor's doctor's door, knocking on it eagerly. A woman answered, dressed in white overcoat, her arched eyebrows cocked in surprise.

"Julian Larson moved. He moved his finger," he panted. The doctor's eyebrows practically disappeared behind her shaped fringe.

They moved quickly down the hallway, the woman clutching Julian's report and a stethoscope. They entered the room.

Julian was looking at them calmly; his sepia coloured eyes wide open as he took in their flustered appearance.

"I've been expecting you," Julian croaked, flashing the couple a shadow of his old Cheshire cat smile.

* * *

><p><strong>I don't own anything to do with Dalton and Glee.<strong>

**That goes to CP Coulter and Ryan Murphy.**

**Flamers aren't welcome.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Now Julian was awake, he wasted no time proclaiming to the world that this was the case and that he was on the steady road to recovery. The media had documented his hospitalisation, with a number of dedicated fan girls pledging to nurse Julian back to health – at the first opportunity, Julian sent them all flowers for their support.

The response brought Julian the respect of thousands, with the papers printing the same picture of Julian on their front pages, or at least the whole of the entertainment section.

The picture was a hospital bed portrait, with a weakly smiling Julian sitting upright in his bed, his bruises only lilac smudges on his face.

Kurt, who had taken to visiting him practically every day, had insisted against the photo strongly, arguing the flash would be damaging to his sensitive eyes and he wasn't strong enough for such media attention.

Julian had halted this, coolly disregarding all of Kurt's suggestion of rest and recuperation and thrown himself into the project. His body, however, hadn't been the easiest ally to cope with.

"One more step, Mr Larson, and then you can rest." _The man is a sadist_, Julian thought angrily, whilst sweat poured down his body and his legs were wobbling visibly under the strain of physiotherapy.

"Move, goddam you." Julian had taken to cursing to his legs which, after months of being stationary as well as being broken, had failed to respond in the correct manner. This wasn't the freedom he had asked for. Julian whimpered between clenched teeth as he raised his leg tiredly. It moved jerkily, like a marionette on a loose string and he brought it down in front of him heavily, pain shooting up his thighs.

He groaned and bit his lip, trying to contain the vomit that was climbing up his throat. It wouldn't do to throw up. Hospitals were hotbeds for gossip and news stories, and having the knowledge of Julian Larson being practically taught to walk again was not the right press he wanted to endure right now. He turned his head, glaring at the physiotherapist furiously, getting increasingly frustrated at the man's constantly disappointed face.

Couldn't he see that Julian was trying? Or was he enjoying watching the actor to be humiliated repeatedly over the baby steps he was taking. The physiotherapist looked down at the clip-boarded notes and nodded at Julian.

"Take ten minutes," he uttered, boredom in his voice as consulted the notes intently. Julian swayed and clutched hold of the arm supports tightly. He had been at this blasted therapy for nearly a week now, and had only managed a measly five steps, each of them getting heavier and more awkward than the last. He didn't know if he was making progress or failing miserably, but all he knew was that if he didn't become as graceful as a swan in the next few weeks, he would be saying goodbye to a glittering movie career.

A nurse scurried forward and pulled up a seat for the actor, who took it silently, groaning quietly as he slumped into his seat. He leant forward, rubbing down his a vain attempt to stop the white-hot stabs of agony that were racing through his muscles.

They didn't tell him that it was going to be this hard, Julian reflected, casting his mind back to the blurry memories of first few days after waking up.

"_Mr Larson? Mr Larson? Are you awake?" _Well that was a stupid question_, Julian thought tiredly. _And she calls herself a doctor_. _How medicine has gone downhill. _But Julian knew that being cheeky wasn't going to help him any further, so he nodded meekly, staring the woman. It had been such a long time using his eyes; he was finding it hard in focusing on her facial features._

"_Don't be frightened, Mr Larson, your eyesight will return momentarily," she soothed, approaching the bed and peering at him, staring right into the famous Larson sepia eyes._

"_Mr Larson, can you remember me? I introduced myself when you first came into the hospital. Just before the coma. Take your time to answer, I know you're scared," the woman questioned, and in a gesture that Julian wasn't sure if it was professional or just reassuring, she touched his forehead softly._

_He wanted to lean into the touch, bury his face into her shoulder and weep. Julian had never been the most emotional person in the world, apart from where being over-dramatic was necessary, but now terror and confusion made his eyes well up._

_Tears. Julian was almost pleased to have them back. It was like he had been given back a crucial part of his life, and he wanted to bask in the comfort of being able to control himself again. But now wasn't the time. Julian blinked, dislodging the three teardrops that had gathered on his long eyelashes and they made a steady path down his cheek._

_No, Julian didn't remember her. He couldn't even remember the accident that had driven to being in such a state, but if the flashbacks were anything to go by, he seemed like he was entirely at fault._

"We're going to be happy soon, Julian…"

_The voice was back, a smoother, more loving tone this time. It seemed to be crooning almost, the hatred gone out of it. It hid a promise, a promise that seemed – to the person speaking it – to be a happy one. But still, once again, there was no face to the person._

_But there was something else. Something new. He could remember lying on the floor, with a searing pain in his arm… In fact, Julian tried to dig deeper into the memory. There was pain all over him. He felt hands touching him, smoothing back his hair, touching his cheek. _

_Then something else. Something…. Unexpected._

_A kiss. A small yet passionate kiss was firmly caressing his mouth. But Julian wasn't responding. In fact, he felt like he couldn't respond. He didn't recognize the touch, and couldn't see anything. Who was this person? Logan? He doubted it, no matter how much he craved it._

_Somebody more sinister, who skulked in his memories._

"_Mr Larson?" Julian blinked, looking back at the woman in surprise. He had zoned out, leaving his eyes blank and dark. Logan had often called it his mask, the face he used when he was rifling in his head for information._

"_I…" his throat hurt whenever he tried to speak, but he persevered on, trying to swallow to get moisture to dampen his mouth and being shocked when he found nothing. His mouth was incredibly dry; it felt like he had swallowed sand. _

I've been in a coma. I haven't drunk anything in… God knows how long_, Julian reminded himself._

"_I… Don't… Sorry," he rasped out, his normal suave voice replaced by a dry croak._

_The woman nodded once, her hand still touching his forehead gently, warmth radiating from it._

"_It's expected, Mr Larson. I'm Doctor Wilson. I've been monitoring you since you were admitted," she explained slowly, looking into his eyes for any sign of confusion. Finding nothing, she continued. _

"_You were admitted on March 5__th__, after an… incident at Dalton Academy left you wounded. You broke," she reached over and grabbed her notes, before consulting them quickly, her forehead furrowing slightly, "You broke 4 ribs, both of your wrists, your shin had been splintered and you had a significant head wound. You've been comatose for over a month," she checked her watch. "It's April 9__th__. Check for yourself," she offered him her watch, not cushioning the blow at all for the newly awoken Julian. Doctor Wilson's techniques had been called controversial or downright insensitive, but her intelligent mind had found that coma victims that had woken up in unfamiliar locations surrounded by machinery were more settled with one blunt, to-the-point explanation as opposed to a dozen fluffy ones._

_Julian's mind was spinning as he checked her watch, his eyes widening slightly at the date, which indeed read April 9__th__ 2011. A month? A month of this nightmare? A month being contained in his body and unable to do anything by himself? He couldn't remember any of it though, apart from most of today and that annoying beeping which had woven its way into his unconsciousness. Surely she was lying, she couldn't be serious._

_The injuries? A list THAT long? Why didn't he feel any pain? Was he so drugged up he couldn't feel anything? But if he were on a cocktail of morphine and __oxycodone, surely he wouldn't be able to think straight? Julian wanted all these questions answered._

"_Injuries?" he wanted to get the most confusing one out of the way first. She smiled grimly._

"_Some pretty serious ones, Mr. Larson. Luckily, in your comatose state, the bones healed up pretty quickly, considering you weren't using them. But, the head one… That required a small operation to reduce some swelling on your brain. It was a success, but putting you in a coma was the safest option for a complete recovery. Something which," she smiled at him properly this time, "has happened"._

Julian grimaced, the memory fading into fogginess.

It had been a long recovery; he hadn't even scratched the surface of recovery yet. He felt like a baby, being assisted in practically every menial task that was presented before him. Julian hated this. He had always been a very solitary person, a person who would rather push his way through bustling airports instead of being flanked by bodyguards.

But now... Here he was, the disabled freak.

"Time to get up, princess," the physiotherapist snarled, standing in front of him with his hand on his hips.

Princess... Why did that insult mean so much to him? It stirred a feeling inside of him, a connection to that word. It was a common name used for Julian, whose reputation as a diva had come back the moment he woke up.

Julian pushed these thoughts aside and glared at the man, before struggling to his feet. His face twisted in a mocking sneer and he walked around the side of the supports, leaning against the walls.

"Now… Shall we actually make some progress now?" he asked, making Julian glower at him.

"What do you think I've been doing for the past week?" Julian questioned, gripping hold on the supports as he slowly placed on foot in front of the other.

"Nothing, in my opinion. You've been slacking, Julian," the man answered, rolling his eyes at the diva's behaviour.

"I don't think you're supposed to speak to me in that way," Julian hated his unprofessional attitude more than the excruciating pain he was being forced to endure.

"I can speak to you in any way I want to. It's your call if you want to end up in a wheelchair." Julian didn't bother answering, and determinedly moved forward a tiny bit faster.

"I can do this," he muttered under his breath, feeling his arms ache already from the strain of supporting his body upright.

"I doubt it," the sadist had moved closer, staring at Julian intently as he took in his slow progress. Julian glanced at him, anger coursing through his veins.

"Why don't you just back off? I'm trying," Julian suggested, a furious tone lacing its way through his sentence, making it seem almost like a threat.

The physiotherapist flushed, his eyes glittering dangerously as he slowly edged his way to face Julian, but standing a good twenty feet in front of him.

_Coward, _Julian thought, a red mist flooding his mind as he took in the man standing in front of him.

"You won't get anywhere, Larson. You're just a stupid, washed up actor and I don't know why I bother." His voice was low and gentle, his eyes burning into Julian as he spoke.

Julian felt his muscles flex with anger as he took in the man's words. Who the hell was he to criticize Julian? He didn't have to go through all this agony! He didn't know what it was like.

"Look at you; I pity you, I really do. You don't know how sad you look," he moved forward slightly, his steps small as he advanced on Julian. "Nobody to visit you. That Hummel boy hates you. Your family is embarrassed to see you," his voice was triumphant as he saw Julian froze, realizing he had hit a sore spot. "Huh... Even that pretty blond boy stopped coming to see you. Oh, yes, I saw him. When you were sleeping he was here every day... But where is he now, Julian?"

That was it.

Julian was gone.

Without realizing what he was doing he sprinted forward, all agony disappearing under his pure fury. His strides were long and powerful; rage pushing his legs into working. He pounced at the man and pushed him against the further wall, his fists grabbing hold of the physiotherapist's shirt.

"DON'T YOU _DARE _MENTION HIM! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HIM! YOU'RE _PATHETIC_! I _LOATHE_ YOU! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? GOD? YOU LORD OVER ME, THINKING YOU'RE SO HIGH AND MIGHTY, WHEN IN FACT YOU'RE DISGUSTING!" Julian was screaming at him, his face pushed right up to the man, who was gasping in shock.

"HOW ABOUT YOU DO US ALL A FAVOUR AND TAKE A FLYING LEAP, YOU SCUM!" Julian felt his body tremble with wrath. He wanted to hurt him, to kill him! Julian had never felt this frenzied anger before. It terrified him; it changed him, turning him into some sort of monster.

But he didn't care. For all he cared, he could scream for the rest of his life and it still wouldn't be enough. A strange noise interrupted his ranting, making him stop midway through his hate spiel.

The physiotherapist had started laughing.

Properly laughing, a deep chuckle that made him vibrate slightly under Julian's hands.

Julian dropped his hands, and with a wobble he stepped away, staring at the man in confusion.

"I knew you needed a trigger," he laughed loudly, clutching his sides as he stared at Julian's immobile form.

"…What?" Julian questioned, frowning slightly at the unusual reaction.

The man continued laughing, his breath coming out in wheezes.

"They say my methods are unorthodox but I've never seen a reaction that strongly before," the man wiped his eyes, still chuckling.

Julian stayed silent, his brow still knitted in puzzlement.

"You weren't going to make any proper progress unless I pushed you, Julian. I had to find out your weakness, something that would make you snap after the month you spent in that coma. And after finding it… well, you turned into a little hellcat." The physiotherapist was grinning now, all traces of the cold treatment that Julian had endured gone.

"I heard you were a diva, but I never expected that. Goodness..." the man trailed off, shaking his head in wonderment.

"Go on," he gestured towards Julian. "Walk".

Could he? Walk properly, as in the old Julian Larson swagger? He didn't know. That anger had taken all sense out of him, all proper thought. Julian had acted purely on instinct.

He slowly took one step forward, his mouth falling open as he foot complied gracefully. It wasn't as perfect as he was used too. His hips were still a bit stiff, and he felt a small flash of pain shoot up his leg. But there he was. Julian Larson was walking again.

The physiotherapist patted him on his back gently.

"Well done, kid," he said softly. And for the first time in a long while, Julian cried openly.


End file.
